My Awakened Friend Judy Joy Jones

CALCUTTA, NEW YORK

BY JUDY JOY JONES

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A musician friend of mine lives in New York City and tells me how many homeless people there are everywhere and how NYC reminds her more and more of Calcutta, India. People live in cardboard boxes, on bridges, in streets and everywhere.

I thought of Mayor Bloomberg and what an example he could make to try and house the homeless. I am wondering why mayors are paid: to do what? They allow their citizens to go hungry and die on streets.

I wrote this poem about the horrid suffering of the homeless because I couldn’t really believe that the mayor who is supposed to take care of the citizens of a city was not doing so.

We all go to sleep every night with the grim realities of the unimaginable suffering of homeless people in New York CIty — and most cities.

POEM FOR NYC

BY JUDY JOY JONES

mayor bloomberg

is king for day

but could be

a god thru eternity

leading all

thru heavens doors

when he feeds

houses and tenderly

cares for the poor

all over the streets

of the city he keeps

reminding everyone

greatness is earned

by the deeds we do

each person we see

with no food or home

could be our mother father

sister and brother

whose only hope

is you and me

in one day

bloomberg could

wipe every tear away

with a few dollars

from the billions he saves

trading his title of king

for compassionate god

whose only goal

is the well being of all

isn’t that

what mayors are for?

Blues plus Jazz equals Cotton

Read: A HISTORY OF AFRICAN AMERICAN JAZZ AND BLUES

TALKIN’ THAT JAZZ
Joan Cartwright

It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.
It’s still a soul song.

Bebop off beat with sweet jingles
Hip hop cold beats and street lingo
Conductor pace set big band on time
DJ MC hype man gone shine

From Stacey’s to shell toes
Straight A’s to dope rhymes
Kool Herc to King Cole
Ice Tea to Eckstein
Player Daddyo
Break beats broken time
Pork pies and kango
Whodini to Earl Hines

Uptown Harlem at Minton’s in Manhattan
Is where the cats would improvise while other cats were scattin’
Then it moved downtown where upper classes hung out
To listen to the hep cats talkin’ that jazz

And in the fifties the lingo crossed the water
To Berlin and to Paree where a Baron’s daughter
Understood the story spoken in all blue notes
Fast notes, hot notes, soundin’ like some new notes

The music was a smash hit and such a sensation
It traveled ‘round the world receiving thunderous ovations
It soon became a language that everyone could dig
Because the beat is so hip when they’re talkin’ that jazz

At 7, I discovered I was imitating Ella
And making sounds like Hendricks, boy, was he a swingin’ fella
By 17, I dreamt of singing with my own band
And talkin’ that jazz in far exotic lands

Then it finally happened, I vacated Manhattan
And took a trip to Europe where all the cats were scattin’
I said, “Arrivederci,” to my friends in the city
And, “Comment ces’t va,” a mes amis nouveaux en France

It soon became apparent that language was a must
I had to talk to people. Boy, did I feel like a clutz.
But they could understand me ‘cause I could talk that jazz
And life on Earth was really not so bad

And now I go a trav’lin’, a singin’ and a croonin’
A bluesin’ and a croonin’, happy as a loonin’
To propogate the music, I make the razzmatazz
I’m walkin’ and a squawkin’ and a talkin’ that jazz

Listen to the hep cats talkin’ that jazz
Fast notes, hot notes, soundin’ like some new notes
The beat is so hip when we’re talkin’ that jazz
The beat is so hip when we’re talkin’ that jazz

Fast notes, hot notes, soundin’ like some new notes
The beat is so hip when we’re talkin’ that jazz